


wish upon a song

by soundofez



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Altered Mental States, F/M, Greek Mythology - Freeform, Mind Manipulation, POV Second Person, Present Tense, Sirens
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-07-18 12:49:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16118822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soundofez/pseuds/soundofez
Summary: All youwantedwas tofi͓̝n҉̼͚͕̺d͎̗̠͍͓͓ ҉͎͙͓͖͖ỵ̖͉̞̖ͅo͈̲͝ṷ̢̖̱͞r̗̬͚͉̹͙̼͉ ҉̨̫̫̩̙͉͓̗͝m̨͈͓̫̣͘o̗̩͎̲̦̩̫͉̙͠t҉̧͚̦̦̦̖̤̙̫̼͍h͜҉̯͖̺͇͖̝̰̬ȩ̶̛̠͍̗̲̻̜̣̼͝͝r̵̛͇̠̳̪̱͢͞ͅ—̝̱̺̰̺͔̦͕͞All you wanted was to listen to his song, to share their island.





	wish upon a song

**Author's Note:**

  * For [redphlox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/redphlox/gifts).
  * Inspired by [spines to light the deep they walk](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10389771) by [soundofez](https://archiveofourown.org/users/soundofez/pseuds/soundofez). 



You've never seen trees like the ones on this island, great gnarled figures that stretch so tall that you think they must brush against the sky.

"They're beautiful," you whisper.

"So you'll stay?" someone asks, so softly that you are surprised that you can hear them over the crashing waves behind you.

"I can't," you reply, turning to face him. "I have to..."

His brows are knit together. You lift your fingers thoughtlessly to press out the wrinkles, and he smiles, his eyes crinkling pleasantly. The corners of his lips lift and curl, dimpling his cheeks.

"Stay," he says, and you slip, silken sand shifting from under your feet.

Your new companion helps you back to your feet. His brows are furrowed once again. "You must stay," he frets, kneeling to inspect your ankles. His long fingers are soothing on your skin.

"I'm fine," you tell him. You try to walk, but your ankles do not support you.

"Stay," he insists, and you let him sling your arm over his shoulders and carry you into the forest.

* * *

They are fragile and ethereal and utterly beautiful, and their smile dimples their narrow cheeks. You cannot help but smile back.

"This island is theirs," your companion explains. "Everything on the island is theirs."

 _I'm not,_ you think absently, but their smile wavers fearfully, and the thought slips from your mind like fine sand. "Thank you for having me," you say gently.

Their smile returns, more beatific, tremulously swallowing their face. You bask in the shy happiness shining from their pale eyes.

"She cannot walk," your companion explains. "Will you help?"

They nod and wave a narrow hand toward a seat, which you take gratefully. Your companion remains on his feet, hovering behind you even as the healer disappears through a bead-curtained doorway.

You catch your companion by the wrist. "Won't you sit?"

"If you wish it," he says dutifully, almost before you finish asking him. By the time the healer returns, he has settled himself beside you.

The healer sets a basin of herb-laden water at your feet, and you are surprised at how effortless the action is. They set about soaking fabric strips in the warm mixture, and they spend only a few swift minutes binding your ankles.

Your companion helps you to your feet, upon which you take several uncertain steps. They are still unsteady, but you manage not to reel into a wall. You turn back to the healer to peck one of their thin cheeks. "Thank you."

They give no reply. Instead, they smile, and their fingers rest carefully upon their cheek as if to hold your kiss in place.

* * *

You've never seen trees like the ones overhead, great gnarled figures that crouch over you, possessive, oppressive.

You sit up, and silken sheets slip sibilantly from your shoulders.

"Are you okay?" someone asks, and you turn to face your companion, who is seated beside your bed. His hair gleams silvery-white, visible even in the darkness of the night.

"My mother," you say, but your mind is scattered by his voice. "My... Are you mine?"

"If you wish it," he says immediately.

"I do," you reply, but the words are wrong. "Not," you try, and that is better, but you are still restless. Something is wrong—

"You do not wish for me?" he asks, and he sounds so sad that you reach for him.

Your hands cradles his face; his cheeks are smooth and cool under your fingers. "I wish for you," you say, and it is true, you do: you wish to listen to him forever. "I wish—"

"Yes?"

He is so eager, you think. He wishes for your happiness— but that restlessness is back, itching at you, disturbing you. He is eager— He wishes—

"You wish?" he repeats, and you soak in his voice, so soft and soothing and _true_.

"I wish to listen," you sigh. "I wish to hear you sing." _Forever_ , you almost say, but your companion's smile is as captivating as the healer's, and you are arrested by the force of his eagerness.

He sings, and you slip into a deep, dreamless sleep.

* * *

The days slide haphazardly together, forgettable and uncounted. All that matters is that you are with your companion, and you both with the healer.

You do not begrudge your companion for the devotion he has to the healer. You regret only your distance: for as much time as your companion spends with you, he spends just as much with the healer, and he has an understanding of them that you envy.

"Do they speak?" you ask your companion.

"They cannot," he replies, and you press your hand to his brow, smoothing the creases that try to take hold. "Not for a long time."

"What happened?"

He turns, breaking away from your hand. "You do not wish to know," he whispers.

The loss of contact is an almost painful shock, like a deluge of icy water: he has never turned away from you before. You open your mouth to call him back to you, only to realize that you do not have a name. "Who are you?" you ask instead.

He regards you, mysteriously closer now than he had been before. He is smiling, but you notice for the first time his teeth, which are as sharp and as jagged as his voice is smooth. "I am _Soul_ ," he says simply, and his name resonates with unearthly force.

You slip.

Your companion catches you, and you stare down at your unbound feet. "Stay," he says, and you look up at him.

You press your fingers to the worry lines creasing his skin. "I'm fine," you say, or remember saying—

He lifts you to his chest. "You must stay," he says, and carries you to the healer.

* * *

You've never seen trees like the ones looming over you, great gnarled figures that block out the sky.

You do not move. Instead, you let your dreamy memories war with a terrible foreboding, and your heart begins to boil with an almost forgotten anger. Your life on this island is not your own. You want it back.

"She's not happy," he says, and he is so sad that you sit up, your hand already outstretched to press away the lines you know are threatening his skin.

He's not there. You gaze past where he should be, out at the distant ocean and the sky beyond it. You trace what stars you can see, and your heart leaps triumphantly even as he speaks again.

"She won't sleep," he says, and you struggle to cling to your victory, to your loss. "Singing doesn't help."

He says nothing more. You gather your wits— you'd forgotten the luxury of freedom— and wonder at how you might escape. _He_ certainly isn't about to let you go.

You focus on the stars. You'd done it. You'd reached the Island Lost, and even though you haven't found your mother, you at least know that she isn't here.

Now you just have to un-lose yourself.

* * *

You think that perhaps you were the carrier for your companion's worry-lines, because now they've infected the healer, who stares down at you, unsmiling. There is sadness in their brow that you know your hands cannot cure, but you try, anyway, and at least then you can see a flicker of their smile.

The healer mirrors your gesture, placing their hands over your eyes. They work warm salves into your skin, and their fingers are gentle when they press their fingers into the bags you can feel under your eyes. You relax under their touch.

The sky is still light when you wake. You rub at your eyes as you sit up, and your mind is curiously foggy.

"Soul?" you call, in the same instant you remember that he is not your companion, that he is only keeping you here for—

"No."

You turn and stare and fall in love.

The healer presses one hand to your eyes, blanketing you in sweet darkness. You close your eyes. "Don't," they tell you. "You know what he can do. I am the same, for all who look upon me."

You do not understand them. You are still reeling from the force of their grace as they tell you, "You're the first to be unhappy. You'll be the first to leave."


End file.
